“How is it trivial? It’s Chingford’s life. The one thing you wanted!”

“That is almost hilariously wrong. I can’t have you paying the price for my mistakes, Will, still less for my convenience.”

“There’s a bit more than your convenience at stake. For Christ’s sake, Kim, I know what you just did for me!”

“And you know why.”

That was unanswerable. Will stared at the road, lit by the Daimler’s powerful headlamps, but with the dusk closing in on them outside that little bubble of light. “Look—”

“We’re not discussing it,” Kim said, in a tone that didn’t brook argument. “First, because we said we’d leave the subject for now. Second, because I told you not to over-react and the least you could do is oblige. And third, because you’re about to be faced by what I laughably call my family, at which point you may well develop strong views on how much of this you can take.”

“Oh, rubbish.”

“Are you going to tell me they can’t be that bad?” Kim’s tone was light and bitter as a gin and tonic.

“Of course I’m not. I’ve seen your scars. But I’m not planning to blame you for whatever they do.”

“You may find that easier said than done.”

Will glanced at his profile, the tension round his jaw. “Do you want to talk about it? Because if I’m going to meet them, maybe I should know.”

Kim shrugged one shoulder. “My brother is a brutish bully who despises everything about me. My father prizes our heritage and position above all, and has a very strong sense of the directions in which power and duty flow. He’s well aware that Freddie Secretan is an oaf—one could hardly miss it—but as his heir, Lord Chingford is sacred and may do as he pleases. Thus, the issues between us were by definition my fault, the more so because of my obstinate refusal to amend the situation. If I complained of Chingford’s behaviour at home or school, I was whining; if I hit back, I was violent and uncontrolled; if I retaliated in other ways or hid from him, I was sly and deceptive. And so on. It wears one down eventually, or at least it wore me down. Others would doubtless have been more resilient. I expect it would have been water off a duck’s back to you.”

“Maybe,” Will said. “Then again, I wasn’t brought up to be a punchbag in the first place. Isn’t Chingford a fair bit older than you?”

“Seven years.”

“So we’re talking about a fifteen-year-old kicking an eight-year-old? God’s sake. What about your younger brother?”